


Smoke in a Speakeasy

by actualvampirate



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Bootleggers, Car Accidents, Con Artists, Drunk Sex, F/M, Flappers, Gun Violence, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualvampirate/pseuds/actualvampirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rising bootlegger Lovino Vargas is forced to take along con artists Antonio Carriedo and Bella for one of the biggest heists of his career. Soon, along with Lovino's partner Ned, they create one of the greatest hooch-smuggling teams of the decade. However, the longer they work, the more Lovino and Antonio have to focus their skills in deception on hiding their growing affections. In an era where immigrants and homosexuality are thought of as near-demonic unmentionables, the pair fight to stay ahead in the business and hide their relationship from one of the loudest, most opulent decades of American history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doritovargas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=doritovargas).



> Megan, I hope you love your story and forgive me for how long it's taken.

# Smoke in a Speakeasy

## Chapter 1

 

_July 6, 1923_

 

     Lovino tightened his grip on the steering wheel as dust scratched against his windshield. The olive green car swerved around another bump as the Italian flicked his bangs back to look at the three black cars behind him. Fuck, where was Ned?

     As if by call, a souped-up Lincoln peeled out of a side path, bottles full of dyed water clinking conspicuously in the trunk. Lovino laughed and punched his fist in the air in response to his partner's raised hand. Beating down on the convoy, a harsh July sun watched their desperate chase towards the Ohio-Illinois border. Chicago had never seemed so far. After another glance in the rearview mirror, the eldest Vargas boy identified their tail as state troopers, which meant in five miles he'd be home free. They just had to get the pigs to take the bait. Lovino closing a fist around his rosary, the two bootleggers squealed onto opposite trails of the forked path in front of them. Breathless, the Italian watched every movement of the men shouting to one another, letting out a whoosh of breath as the leader sped after Ned's barely covered crates. Assuming the others would follow, he turned back to look at the road in front of him. No one had ever caught Ned, and he had a feeling no one would be starting today. Leaning further on the gas, every crash and rattle of the car frame soothed Lovino more than any song. The Illinois border was in sight when the first bullet cracked against the back of his car.

     Lovino's body was ice cold, dust and pebbles cracking against the sides of his car as he jerked to look behind himself. A black cruiser was just behind him, and the trooper was reloading. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. He should've checked for stragglers. His leather gloves held the wheel in a death-grip as he tried to figure out what to do. This was a huge load, and Canadian too. If he got caught he was slammed, and if he dropped it he'd end up with a bullet in his head. Tearing open the glove compartment, the Italian fumbled around until he felt dull metal in his hand. Slamming the hinge shut and throwing his right arm back, Lovino cocked the pistol and cursed. The cop was gaining on him. After a split second of deliberating, his shot cracked against the windshield behind him. The bootlegger tried to assess his shot when the trooper looked up. Fuck. Ears ringing to the point of deafness, Lovino looked straight into the eyes of his hunter. Blonde, crisp, and blue eyes with irises like an abyss. Suddenly he realized how exposed he was. No hat, no goggles, nothing. This cop was gonna be able to pick him out of a lineup from a mile away. Damnit. Lovino looked up to see the faded, once cheery "Welcome to Illinois!" sign barely a mile away and squeezed the wheel until his knuckles were white. He could do this. A dust cloud and then Ned was coming in from the left, troopers nowhere to be seen. Wait. Ned. Ned coming in too fast from the left. "MOVE! JESUS, MOVE!!!", Lovino screamed. He couldn't swerve, there was too much of a risk of the bottles breaking, and this hooch was worth more than his life. The closer he got to the border, the closer he got to the navy blue car speeding to his side. Eyeballing the line, the Italian waited as long as he could before he slammed on the brakes. The last thing he remembered was the sound of glass shattering, metal bending, and his head speeding towards the dashboard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: "Sheba" was slang for an attractive woman in the 20s. (an attractive man would be a sheik if you were curious). Sorry this chapter took so long!

     When the Italian finally opened his eyes, everything was... red. Wait, no. Black. It... um... red. Lovino shook his head, frustrated, and pressed his palms against his eyes. They came back coated in warm liquid, and slowly it became easier to see. Leaning back, he felt warm metal push into his back and heard glass tinkle and clack as it fell from his hair. Shit...

     Bits and pieces started to reappear as Lovino fought to stay awake. Between lazy blinks, he caught glimpses of cars. His own ride was curled around a blue car in a strange embrace, and Ned was slumped against the steering wheel. Another blink and he was standing. Lovino glanced carelessly around him, blinking away the red warmth falling into his eyes. Glass littered the front seat and Ned was yelling at someone, but his ears were ringing too loudly to understand the shouts. The Italian turned to his left and he saw a black car just a few feet away. Everything shocked back.

     Lovino jerked his head up with a sharp intake of breath as pain shot through his body. Fuck. Cop, Squinting at the floor of the car until it came into focus, he clumsily snatched his revolver, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Panting, he frantically wiped away the blood trickling into his view as he tried to gauge his surroundings. The ringing in his ears subsided and Ned came into his sight a short walk away.

     The tall Dutch man cracked a smile despite the six-shooter he kept resolutely pointed towards the wary trooper. "Glad to see you've joined us, sport. I was worried I'd have to dance all by lonesome".  Lovino tried to laugh, but the combination of his aching ribs and mouth-drying fear compressed his lungs. Recovering, he gave a hesitant smile and pressed a hand to his chest, eyes never leaving the two blonde men. "You never were one for dancing."

      Ned nodded, pistol unwavering from its aim. "Gil's running backup, we should be out soon." His thumb clicked against the flintlock. "Hopefully our little soldier doesn't get brave." The cop stared back blankly, ducking his head to write something in a small notebook. They all knew if he crossed the state line, he was out of his domain and also pretty goddamn dead.

     Lovino scowled. The trooper's eyes reminded him of a shark he saw once during a Pacific run, cold and already dead. Struggling to get out of the Lincoln and check on the cargo, he masked the fear shaking his hand with a look of pure hatred. After an anxious glance to the relatively unharmed trunk, the Italian leaned heavily against his car. Eyes narrowing, he called out, "There's always one little hero. What's wrong piggy, don't like cash?"

     The cop's expression tightened but he gave no response. Lovino's body ached and he began to regret his decision to get out of the car. Ned looked over and calmly suggested, "I think you should be resting, sport. We'll be out in just a lick."

     Vargas gritted his teeth and wrenched himself away from the support of his car. "I'm fine. Besides, I feel like taking a smoke."

     And that's just how Gilbert found them. A quiet standoff and an Italian stubbornly blinking blood out of his eyes as he blew a cloud of smoke up into the hot July afternoon.

* * *

     At the arrival of a third party, the cop finally closed his infernal book, tipped his hat, and began to walk to his car. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other, gentlemen." Lovino spat in disgust, but he had never been more relieved to see his friend's almost gaudily white ride.

     Gilbert rushed towards the wreckage, but slowed to his usual swagger when he realized both passengers and cargo seemed relatively safe. Flicking the top button of Lovino's waistcoat, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a smile playing across his face. "Now just what do we have here, Lovi?"

     The Italian snarled while shoving his bangs back, blood plastering his hair. "Do I look like I'm in the fucking mood for your chatter?" The German's white-blonde head ducked behind the trunk as he began to unload the shine from Lovino's car. "Well, you are the cat who wanted to pull a two-man run."

     "You didn't tell me that the cops weren't _paid._ "

     Gilbert shrugged and handed his partner a handkerchief to clean himself up. "You know what boss says. Pull your job like death's at the start and a sheba's at the end, or don't pull it at all."

     Ned helped the injured runner to Gilbert's car. "Fuck what the boss says. Just get us to the garage."

     Along with Ned's quiet assistance, Gilbert finished loading his ride and hopped into the driver's seat. "I'm gonna have to send a crew for your... incident, so I'll be late to cards. And don't bleed all over my car, this is a new job."

     As the familiar sound of the engine filled his ears and the rush of passing air cooled his feverish head, Lovino leaned against the back seat. "Fuck your paint job."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breezer - convertible  
> Big six - strong man  
> Shine - illegal liquor

     There were a few minutes of cautious silence as Gilbert revved the engine and peeled his flashy white breezer away from the wreckage. Lovino squinted at the dirt road ahead of them before turning his head to spit on the ground, disgusted with how poorly their heist had gone. 

      The bootleggers' tension slowly eased as they drove further and the Illinois forest came closer to their path. Raising a hand to block out the harsh summer sun, Ned kept his neck craned to keep an eye out for tails or police reinforcements. The Italian shifted higher in his seat and tried to do the same, but when he lifted a hand to shade himself, it began shaking so violently that it was more distracting than the sun. Jerking it back, Lovino surreptitiously glanced at the front seat, making sure neither of his companions had noticed. The last thing he needed was rumors that Chicago's new big runner had 'nerves'.

      As if on queue, Gil turned to the man next to him with a grin. "So, Ned. I heard this was Canadian shine you two were hustling. Was that hot rum-runner on board?" 

     The quiet Dutch man pulled the cigarette he had been nursing out of his mouth and frowned. "Even if she was, it wouldn't be any of your goddamn business, now would it?"

     Gilbert raised his hands in surrender, earning a nervous bark from Lovino, " _Watch the fucking road!_ ", before he continued. "Hey, I was just curious, you don't have to be such a blue nose." The German turned back to the wheel, earning a few minutes of silence before he turned back, insatiable. "But at least tell me about the run, okay? Boss has been givin' me pickup after pickup, I haven't seen action in months."

     Ned laughed at Gilbert's eagerness, then nodded in agreement before beginning to mumble around his cigarette about the new security Cleveland had put in, the young man across from him soaking in each word.

     As the pair in the front seat fell into an easy conversation, Lovino took advantage of the lull to assess his damages and force himself to calm down. Taking deep breaths of the unpolluted country air, he unbuttoned his vest, tossing it to the side before he untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, running a hand down himself hesitantly and applying pressure to different areas to gauge a response. When the Italian got to his ribs, he hissed through his teeth as a flash of white-hot pain shot through his chest and his back arched violently.

     The conversation in front of him came to an abrupt halt as Gil looked into the backseat in his rear-view mirror, obviously concerned. "You all right there, big six?"

     Lovino cursed under his breath as he nodded hastily, hand still tucked against his ribcage. The youngest bootlegger looked unsatisfied as he continued to monitor the young man in his back seat. "Hey, we're gonna run you to Doc when we get back, okay?"

     Lovino shook his head and tried to wave away the comments. "I'll be right as rain, don't worry about me." Looking to his partner for help, he added, "Come on Ned, tell him about how we got to your big finale."

     Ned took pity and started to continue his story, slowly regaining Gilbert's attention as the Italian carefully arranged himself in the back so that he was laying facing the trunk, one hand lightly monitoring his ribs. The rocking of the car created a drowsy calm and Lovino, now sorted, started to finally review what had happened this morning.

 

* * *

 

_July 6, 1923. Six hours prior._

   

     The brunette bootlegger flicked his cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his heel absentmindedly as he watched every movement of the dock below the hill he had parked on. Tired and irritable, Ned had convinced him to let the Dutch man unload their shine from port by himself, claiming that it would add the final note of authenticity for their ploy. Looking back, Ned had probably expected the same relatively calm outcome as Lovino, and was just hoping to get some time alone with the young Canadian runner he seemed to be carrying a torch for as of late.

     The dock had doubled its security, but as usual the main help had been bought over and were playing cards in the small break room they had near the edge of the loading station. Everything seemed to be going by schedule, and Lovino found himself unsuspecting, about to have another cigarette when he realized the orange light was not coming from his unsuccessful attempts with his lighter, but from a lantern down on the dock. Jerking his head up, a scowl cut across his face as he prepared to identify the crewman bumbling around on the shine ship and give him a good cuff later, but stopped cold when he saw the lantern was attached to a uniform. His cigarette fell untouched to the ground as he fought to stay calm and signal Ned, who had finished bringing the shine to Lovino long before and was now packing the falses into his trunk.

     Waving his hands violently, he hoarsely stage-whispered to his partner, " _There's a snitch! Ned, fuck, we have to leave!_ " The blonde turned to look at Lovino and raised his hands, confused. The Italian tried to silently mouth the situation but realized the distance was too great for Ned to understand. Running his fingers through his hair, he threw his pack of cigarettes into his passenger seat as he jumped over his driver's side door, ripping his keys from his pocket and starting his engine, praying that Ned would get the hint and follow. As soon as the sound of his engine turning over filled the air, it was joined by three more down on the dock, their headlights shining enough light to reveal the police emblems on their sides. Wide-eyed, Lovino leaned over his dashboard to confirm and quickly sat back down, throwing a look over to the other end of the hill's plateau, where Ned was rushing to get into his car, hastily tying down his false bottles. 

     Thoughts were crashing around his mind about who must have told, where they would dock later, and so many other things, but the only thing Lovino could physically do now was floor it and pray that his car was the fastest. And so the smell of burning rubber met the screech of tires, and the chase began.

      

   


End file.
